


Ghastly Serenade - Respite

by The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette



Series: Ghastly Serenade [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Budding relationships, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Gender Neutral, Implied Violence, M/M, Multi, age gap, fear of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette/pseuds/The_Blonde_and_the_Brunette
Summary: Not really a good summary for this, since I don't really want to spoil what happens. Its basically Arthur standing up for reader when they're threatened.gender neutral
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader
Series: Ghastly Serenade [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136177
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	Ghastly Serenade - Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is a little continuation of the "Ghastly Serenade" reader insert I did last halloween, since I wanted to play more with the dynamic of grey honor Arthur and the more complicated character he reflects.

“You keep starin at that fire, you’re liable to go blind.”

Arthur plopped down next to you with a grunt and a long sigh, the gentle clink of two bottles in his grip. He took off his hat, shook out his hair, and then held out one of the beer bottles for you to take.

You barely glanced at him, fingers automatically slipping around the cool glass bottle, dropping your eyes quickly before he could see the red ring around the edges. “Thanks- thanks Arthur.”

The silence near your elbow was telling, but you refused to look over to confirm his suspicions, instead taking a small sip from the bottle before resting it in the dirt between your crooked legs.

“You… why you out here?”

You watched as he gestured to the empty campfire with his bottle, the low firelight still catching on the planes of glass before he brought it to his lips.

You shrugged, scratched at your arm. “Can’t sleep, bad dreams.” A month ago, you wouldn’t have told him, but then again, a month ago he wouldn’t have sat close enough to touch knees.

The two of you had grown slightly closer since the night out on Roanoke Ridge, taking more jobs together, every now and then seeking each other out when holed up at camp. Karen joked that Arthur was in danger of becoming a shadow, the way he stationed himself at your elbow, and you didn’t have the heart to correct her that it was likely the other way around.

Christ, you wished Arthur had been at your elbow today.

He was still watching you, silently, bent forward and lips pursed, bottle thudding against the log as it swung in his contemplation.

“You wanna… talk?”

“Naw,” you vigorously shook your head, turning slightly to give him a small smile. “It ain’t nothin special, Arthur.”

The use of his first name pulled a wry snort from behind the bottle. “Huh, that’s funny. I’m damn near old enough to double your age, kid.”

You blinked at him, not sure where that comment had come from, but whatever he saw on your face made him chuckle, broad frame groaning to his feet again to tower over you.

With the fire behind him, it took you a moment to see the outstretched hand offered near your face. Impatiently, he wiggled his fingers, and you started when one brushed the awkward curl of your sweat licked hair.

“C’mon, let’s go for a ride.”

“A ride?” Your hand found his solid grip, let him tug you upright. That warm palm slid down to the space between your shoulders, pushing softly in the direction he wanted you to go.

“Yea, for a ride. You ain’t sleepin, and damn if I will either with Bill snorin like he does.”

Maybe you should have pointed out that Bill wasn’t even in camp for the night, but Arthur already had hands at your waist, lifting you slightly so you had no choice but catch the pommel of his saddle and heave yourself onto the back of his warhorse.

“Settle, Gunsmoke,” he breathed out in a croon, petting the solid neck of muscle when an inquisitive head turned to eye you.

You looked over askance as he pulled himself up in from of you, your gaze drawn to your own horse hitched across the way. “Why-”

“Just humor me.”

You rolled your eyes at his insistence, but slid your arms around his chest anyway. It wasn’t until he froze slightly at the touch, hands taunt at the reins, that you realized what you had done, and you pulled away slightly, an apology ready at your lips.

His hand caught your’s, tugged you back, placed your hands back around the width of his barrel chest, and clicked to the monster underneath him, sending a cloud of dust up as the brute galloped out of camp.

“Where’re we goin, Arthur?”

For a moment you didn’t think he’d heard, and certainly you could understand with how the wind whipped gleefully past your ears. The landscape revolved around you, the nightmare warhorse tearing a path through the night at a fast pace.

“Know a little church, not too far. Pretty peaceful place.”

“It ain’t that ruin the raiders camp at, is it?”

His burst of laughter caught you by surprise. “Naw, smaller one, across the field.”

You wondered if he’d forgotten it was a battlefield.

——————————————

In truth, the small stone building _was_ peaceful, still upright despite the years of neglect. It far enough away from the battlefield proper that it had escaped the same hellish fate of the larger building across the field, left to wallow in ashes and decay instead of blasted to pieces.

You ran a hand over the arched doorway, waited while Arthur tied Gunsmoke to an old, worn hitching post and removed his bedroll. The sight of him carrying it under his arm sent a jolt of shock through you, and you laughed out loud at your foolishness.

“Hm?” at his enquiring hum, you gestured at the bedroll tucked under his arm as you both moved into the building.

“Here I go runnin off with you, forget my bedroll.”

Arthur paused for a moment, looked down at the mentioned piece of kit, and then back up with furrowed brows. “I figured we’d share.”

“Oh,” You blinked like an owl, staring back at him, wondering why he’d decided to break the tentative truce you’d struck over the past month. Neither one of you had mentioned the comfort you’d found holding one another that night in the forest, and now, faced with a repeat occurrence, you felt the warmth of butterflies rise in your stomach.

You pressed a balled fist against your middle, trying to tramp down the feeling, watching as Arthur lit a lantern and unrolled the bedroll. He flicked it open, unraveled a blanket that had been folded inside, and shook it out before his sharp gaze cut over to you.

“You comin?”

You nodded your head slowly, dragged your feet over to where he stood, and let him manhandle you into the single bedroll. Your back to his chest, his arm thrown up lazily as a headrest, legs tangled together even though you tried to keep yours away.

The air rushed out of him in a long sigh, his body relaxing, and you could feel the drain of strain from each set of muscles as he slowly slumped against you. Belatedly, you realized you weren’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

“How long?” You asked, hoping desperately he would understand and you wouldn’t be forced to spell out the thing you were both avoiding.

He was quiet for a long moment, fingers absently moving above the blanket on your shoulder, then his head moved, and you felt the sigh through his nose and the puff of breath as he spoke:

“Since… well, since Annesburg.”

You hummed, unthinking, and muttered a small “sorry” into the cloth covering his arm, shifting your head to get more comfortable.

A baited silence, then, “You wanna tell me what happened today?”

You shifted again, winced, “Who told you?”

“Charles.” At least he did you no discourtesy, trying to hide his source.

You turned slightly unto your back, glanced at your bedmate over your shoulder, and realized he was much closer than you thought, almost spooned around you. The cool air in the church was just enough that his breath came out in a small white puff of cloud, and with his hat set aside you could actually pick out the red raw skin along his cheeks from the windy ride.

Fingers gently touched your cheek, and you felt the your own raw skin under the pads, but Arthur drew away, slung his arm backwards over his hip and waited.

You started in a whisper, almost frightened to say it any louder. “I got in Micah’s way.”

The steel glint in Arthur’s eyes hardened, rose to the forefront until it wasn’t your maybe friend staring back at you, but Dutch’s Right Hand, the man as likely to beat a feller as speak to them. He coiled up like a snake ready to strike, and you could feel the growl in his chest where your arm pressed against him.

“That ain’t how Charles put it.” You shivered at his voice, swallowed and closed your eyes, reminded yourself that his look wasn’t directed _at_ you.

“Well, I did. Get in his way, that is.”

You felt when he shifted, heard the scratch of his hand against stubbled cheek, but wasn’t prepared for his aghast tone. “You’re lyin to me.” It sounded almost like a question, and you peeked an eye open, at a loss to explain the look that crossed his face at the revelation.

“No- no,” you shook your head fast, prompting him to lean back to avoid getting smack by your hair. “I’m not, Arthur, just… christ… it ain’t worth it.”

“What?” Now he seemed angry, swelling up beside you, and you hurried on:

“We don’t need anymore fightin, things being how-“

You cut off, abruptly, as Arthur twisted, loomed halfway over you to snarl into your face. “It ain’t worth it?” You froze under him, breath trapped in your throat, eyes as wide as saucers as he continued . “That slimy son of a bitch puts his hands on you, threatens you, and it ain’t worth it?”

You were afraid to nod, afraid to disagree, and he must have seen the little bit of fear creeping past your shocked mask, because he suddenly dropped back to his side, hands reaching up to fist in his hair.

You jumped when he said your name, voice raw and low, and looked over to see his eyes still fixed above. “If he ever, _ever_ … puts his hands on you again, you’ll tell me.” This time, there was no inflection of question, his words a dire statement, and lord help you, you nodded quickly, a small bit of relief curling in your stomach that a promise was all he wanted.

His head turned, gaze glancing between your eyes and your mouth, before he continued, voice dropping into a lower register so that you had to strain to hear him. “You _are_ worth it, you hear me.”

A hiccup escaped, and you clamped a hand over your mouth, not knowing if it stemmed from the emotion Arthur had pulled up now, or from the leftover tension that had built during the day. Either way, Arthur seemed to understand, his grip firm as he grasped your other hand and held it, fingers pressed tight against skin.

You fell asleep hand in hand, scrunched together, under the blasted, broken roof.

————————————————

_Went out huntin a couple of days ago, tryin to find that big buck over near Strawberry with the painted pelt. Hunted it pretty quickly, don’t know how it grew to be so big with fur that stuck out like it did._

_Charles met up with me on the way back to camp, out doin some hunting of his own. What he told me filled me with a right rage, don’t think I’ve been angry like that in a long time._

_Micah, always Micah, that damned rat. Put his hands on the kid during a robbery, shook them up and threatened them. What for, Charles didn’t know, but you don’t have to be a genius to figure out that man is rotten through and through. Had the gall to stop me comin into camp for a word, something about a stagecoach robbery, but i didn’t listen._

_I punched him down._

_Shouldn’t have done it, but I don’t regret it. Hopefully it’ll get my message across, because I’m liable to kill him if I catch wind of it again._

_And that sweet kid, the fool, tryin to hide what’d happen. Don’t rightly know if they were more scared of me, or Micah, but I’m use to that look at least. Still trusts me enough to sleep beside me, at least._

_Morgan, you damned idiot. Sweet on someone half your age. There’s a hot and terrible place waitin for me, I just know it._


End file.
